


Haunted

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Creepy Fluff, Darkest Night 2018, Ghost Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15774936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: The penthouse’s previous occupant had never vacated the premises, as it turned out.





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryontop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryontop/gifts).



Arturo A. Mable had thought he’d arrived. At long, _long_ last, after all his hard work! He’d been so darn certain! A cushy executive position at JPMorgan Chase Bank? Check. A gorgeous Upper West Side Manhattan penthouse? Check. Spectacular sunrises over Central Park to the east and unobstructed views of even more spectacular sunsets over the Hudson River to the west? Check and check.

His days of cramped, shared accommodation—the teetering piles of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, the smelly laundry on the living room sofa, the unspeakable streaks of . . . um, uh, you know . . . on the toilet seat—were long, _long_ gone. Officially. Signed, stamped, and notarized. Returned to sender. Safely in the proverbial rearview mirror of his new Porsche 911 Carrera. _¡Adiós, amigos!_

Now was the perfect time to settle down and start a family. He’d always wanted to get married and have kids someday. He’d even signed himself up to an online dating site.

Truth be told, he wanted _love_. True love. To love and _be_ loved.

He just . . . well, he just hadn’t counted on the ghost.

 

* * *

 

The temperature is always lower at altitude, but Arturo’s airy penthouse was supposed to be well-insulated—only the very best, top of the line construction materials, he’d been assured when he’d purchased it—so he couldn’t understand why it was always freezing in his bedroom. Nothing seemed to help: not his new high-tech indoor climate control system, not his new 99.95% pure eiderdown duvet.

Then, one night, he jerked awake, shivering, pulse racing . . . and painfully aroused. As usual, he was freezing. He’d been dreaming of icy hands wrapped around his cock and kisses which burned with cold fire.

“You’re so hot,” said a disembodied voice in his ear, like a whisper, like a sigh. “I want you.”

“Yes, have me,” replied Arturo. He wanted this, too. He didn’t know why, but he did. And he wanted _him_.

He felt himself being lifted into position, spread, opened wide. He could see nothing at all in the pitch black, but he felt the eerie, phantasmal embrace, and he _felt_ the touch of something chilly and wet probing the space between his buttocks—

It was thick and hard and remorseless as it plunged in and out, in and out, in and out of him, and it was so cold that it made him almost queasy, his inner muscles cramping uncontrollably, as it leached his own body heat away. Gradually, though, the cock seemed to grow less cold, and the thrusts also grew stronger, faster, deeper . . . and pleasurable. On and on and on, they went, the sweetest of intimate caresses, until Arturo was writhing, mindless, and desperate for completion.

When, at long, _long_ last, the ghost pulsed into him, thrilling, almost warm enough to be alive, Arturo moaned and came, too.

They cuddled until Arturo passed out from sheer exhaustion.

 

* * *

 

The penthouse’s previous occupant had never vacated the premises, as it turned out.

Arturo wasn’t the superstitious sort, so he hadn’t been bothered by news of the suicide, and he certainly hadn’t begrudged the man’s response to personal financial ruin. Except . . . well, but for a quirk of fate, as it were, it could have been him, couldn’t it? They were a lot alike. They were both bankers, for one thing, and they were both single gay men.

So, he’s learned to live and let live—“let undie”?—with his new roommate. (Oh, has he ever. Nothing can wipe the naughty smile plastered, permanently it seems, over his face.) The ghost is quiet; he doesn’t make any messes in the kitchen or the bathroom. Okay, so he does need to feed regularly on Arturo’s life energy, but that just gives Arturo a good reason to eat three square meals a day and to keep himself in shape. It’s all stuff he should have been doing all along anyway.

He doesn’t mind his prematurely graying hair or the dark shadows under his eyes or the fact that his plans to start a family have been put on indefinite hold. He doesn’t mind keeping secrets. Okay, okay, it’s going to take a long, _long_ time to get used to the constant chill, but he’ll get there eventually. Really, he will. It’s true—it’s worth it!

They love each other, Arturo and his ghost, and the sex is just _that_ fabulous.

 

* * *

~ _The End_ ~

* * *


End file.
